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"Chosen by history, a man becomes a warrior. Engraved into history, a warrior becomes a legend."

"I shall reclaim my soul!"

Thirteen Hallowed Nights

The Sixth Night:

"The Gluttony"

By Corvus no Genmu

It is often a popular opinion that elevators are a modern method of torture the likes of which can drive one's sanity to the brink of madness and back again. Being trapped in a enclosed area traveling upwards to Heaven or falling down to the pits of Hell itself, surrounded on all sides by people with little understanding of personal space with the same little melody playing in ceaseless repetition in the background. There was of course the sheer longevity of being in the elevator, stopping at almost every floor but the one you desire and never seeming to reach because some idiot on either side of the door just had to push the button for another floor but your own.

Personally, Jacque didn't see it.

For one thing, the music was actually quite nice, one of Beethoven's works no doubt, and the elevator itself was actually quite spacious though that could be more because it was only himself and two others with him in the small box. At his right standing with both her hands gripping his own in a vice was a young child of eight years appearance, with obsidian hair that fell like a sheet down her back with a green hair band holding the dark locks away from her pale, porcelain face. She was dressed in a blouse of pale violet with a pair of blue jeans and sandals. Her backpack was midnight blue with little bats sewn across it courtesy of the woman on Jacque right.

Though she looked well into her mid-twenties and Jacque himself could at best be in his late teens, there was no doubt that the two of them belonged to one other. Those who were not so blind as to forget the instincts of old could just spare a glance at the two of them and almost see the connection between their hearts. She was dressed in form fitting clothes of red pants with a pale violet dress shirt that matched well her equally pale green tresses. Obviously it was she who held a bigger influence over the girl's fashion sense.

The elevator dinged and Jacque glanced up to see they had reached the top with little problem but his eyes turned back to the young girl as she heaved a relieved sigh as the doors opened. He led them out and catching her eyes, gave Samara a small proud smile though there was a small glimmer of despair in his eyes. She was devoted to him more than he thought and he worried where that devotion would her if she continued to follow him. A hand on his shoulder turned his faint emerald eyes to cool jade. Jacque couldn't help a small smile. Even with a small touch, Morrigan could clear away the clouds of concern in his heart.

The waiting room was large but considering that the rest of the whole floor was the office of the building's owner it was tiny in comparison. Samara turned suspicious eyes up at him. "I want to go with you." She said, refusing to relinquish her grip.

"Nothing's bad is going to happen Samara. I'm just going to have a talk with an old associate of mine, that's all." He adopted a mock stern expression. "Besides, don't you still have some homework to finish?"

Samara scowled though it was nothing like her old one. She turned her glare to the floor for while she enjoyed her new school-life and had actually made some friends of her own, there were some things that she hated about it and one of them was homework. "Math is evil…" She grumbled.

Jacque smiled indulgently. "Which is why I'm sure Morrigan can help you with it easily."

"Flatterer." Morrigan took Samara's hand and guided her to one of the chairs closest to the table on the far side away from the receptionist's desk though he heard well the words whispered through their bond. Finish this quickly, Jacque. This tower reeks of anguish as old as the Makai. If it's strong enough for even Samara to feel even through my veil then my pity goes to this associate of yours, but if he continues to harm our child I will kill him and be done with it.

Jacque blinked but kept his face emotionless though he wanted so badly to smile at her words. Though they were whispered between their minds, it was a rare thing for Morrigan to refer to Samara as theirs. He walked over to the receptionist's desk and was quickly met with a rather snide, "I'm sorry but if you're looking for children's services it is on the sixth floor."

Jacque's eyebrow twitched faintly. He appeared young yes but most did not dismiss him out of hand so quickly. Not a second time anyway. "Sorry but I'm here to see Mr. Silverstein."

The receptionist looked up from her computer, somehow managing to look down her nose at Jacque's pale ivory hair though he was dressed far better than most his age were want to do. "I don't know how you got past security downstairs," she said, shooting a withering glare at Morrigan who was busy helping Samara with her school work to do more than make a recognized gesture in return, "but Mr. Silverstein is far too busy to deal with the likes of you."

"Well seeing as I'm here anyway, why not do me the favor of simply letting him know that Olcadan is here to see him?" Jacque smiled in a rather disarming fashion despite the prominent canines and the faint coldness that suddenly permeated the area around the receptionist's desk.

Deciding to humor the child, she made a show of pretending to press the call button to Mr. Silverstein's office, not seeing the button actually being pushed down as she spoke. "Mr. Silverstein? There is a boy here who says he here to see you? A Mr. Olcadan?" At the silence, she smiled spitefully, preparing to call for security when the speaker suddenly crackled to life as a deep voice spoke with a strange inflection to its words, an accent forgotten in time.

"Send him in."

The tables were turned and Jacque did not bother to hide his smug smirk as he walked past the receptionist and entered the massive office. The office was indeed quite huge consisting primarily of a long hallway that led up to a intricately designed desk made up of fine mahogany with only a single chair for a visitor to sit upon, which looked pale in comparison to the near throne-like chair that resided behind the desk. Paintings like the walls, all from a different era of the arts, everyone an original made only by the best masters of their craft but though they were scattered across the ages it was easy to see the theme behind them. Jacque finally made it to the desk and spared only a passing glance at the company's logo, a revision of the symbol used for infinity, before focusing on the man he came to see.

"I must admit I am surprised… I haven't heard that name in over 400 years…" The chair slowly turned to reveal a man of ebony skin, hairless and with an intricate tattoo marking the left eye which appeared to be made entirely of gold though it function as well as any ordinary eye. "If you know that name, then perhaps you know my own as well?"

Jacque tilted his head but decided to play the man's game. "To my knowledge, you did not bother with family names back then but you're birth name hasn't changed for well over three thousand years… Zasalamel…"

Both eyes narrowed at the name, focusing with a strange intensity upon Jacque, seeing further than where mundane eyes could go. The man leaned back in his chair, a smug smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he steepled his hands. "To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from the likes of you?"

The young man frowned, not liking the older man's tone any. "You think that you've been forgotten over the centuries?" Jacque scoffed loudly. "Not likely."

"So you are the one chosen to take me?" Zasalamel asked sounding amused. "I would have expected someone… older."

"I'm not here for you." Jacque denied. "I'm only here because you have something I need. Two somethings as a matter of fact."

Zasalamel's eyes narrowed and all sense of mirth was gone, replaced by something cold and remorseless. "I will acknowledge your spirit but that is all. Do not involve yourself with those swords if you wish to live. I shall have to kill you if you continue."

"Do not make threats you can't keep, Zasalamel." Jacque growled. "You've overstepped the boundaries, Zasalamel and it was only through common courtesy that they haven't acted. You had the power to end it when you conquered him, overthrown him, but you didn't. You wasted that power and now, all these centuries later, you've doomed yourself.

"That's why I'm here, to offer one last chance at redemption or else they will act and I assure you Zasalamel, it will not be quiet, it will not be quick, and it will not be merciful. Everything that has been touched by your machinations will fall and the world will repress back to the Dark Ages once more."

"A chance of redemption for my sins…? How foolish." Zasalamel rose to his feet and turned his back on Jacque. "Leave."

There was an almost audible snap and Jacque's emerald eyes were alit with a murderous intensity. "I have been kind. I have been patient. I have been humble. I would have you tell me where the swords lay and be done with you but now? You've forgotten your place in this world, Zasalamel and its high time you were reminded of where you stand."

"Funny…" A metallic sound and there in the man's hand was the scythe Kafziel, the ender of the lives of kings. "I was going to say the same for you!" The scythe swung and met—

Air.

Jacque was gone, or so it seemed.

"Do you know why your eye appears as it does, Zasalamel?" Jacque was behind him and Zasalamel whirled, his scythe swing upwards in a rising slash but again the young man was gone. "To every spell there is a weakness…" To the right! "I believe it has been said that the eyes are the window to the soul?"

A cold hand touched upon Zasalamel's face, caressing the skin just beneath his left eye.

"Goodbye."

"The Tower of Remembrance…" whispered Jacque, staring up at the massive tower that rose in a massive spire that reached beyond the limits that mortal creation could go. It was like a spear piercing the breast of the sky to try and slay an uncaring god but Jacque knew otherwise for though he were but a child himself back then, there were few who hadn't heard of the legend of the Warrior King of a Thousand Swords. Of course Zasalamel would leave the swords here, in the very place from whence they were truly born in the first place.

He started forward but a hand stopped him. He stopped and looked to Morrigan who stared at him in open fear. She was in her true form though her mortal clothing remained and she had the cusp of one massive wing wrapped tightly around a shivering Samara who hugged her tightly like she was a lifeline. "Jacque… this place… I've never felt such energies in all of my life…! Not even Pyron could reach such power as this! Jacque… whatever is in that tower… it's better if we leave it there!"

Jacque sighed and glanced back at the tower. "I wish I could, Morrigan, I truly do… but those swords… if I don't take them here, now, when they're still protected under the veils of Zasalamel's magic, then a worse character than I shall find them… and that frightens me."

Morrigan's eyes widened before a firm resolve steeled her veins. "I will come with you. I will not let you face this alone."

"Morrigan—"

"We are equals! You are not anymore my servant than I am yours! I am going with you."

"Me too…" Samara whispered, still quivering but there was steel in her eyes too. She slowly stepped out from under Morrigan's wing and stood beside her to meet Jacque's eyes. "I'm going to."

There was a painful clench in his heart. This is foolishness… I'm just as frightened as they, and the both of them know this… But he couldn't deny either of them.

The climb had been long and arduous, not because of any vicious remnant still lingering in the halls and rooms of the massive tower but by their absence. Time seemed to stretch on for hours and still it seemed like they had barely begun the climb at all for what few windows that marked the curling spiral of stairs revealed nothing but the wastes that surrounded the tower and a steadily darkening sky. By the time they reached the top, they were well past the point of exhaustion. Samara was clinging pitifully to Jacque's back, her arms wrapped loosely around his neck while his arms kept a firm grip around her legs. Morrigan's illusions of mortality were gone completely and there was even a faint sheen of sweat across her forehead and though she wasn't panting for breath like Samara, she did take large breaths. Jacque himself was nearing the edge of throwing dignity to the four winds when he saw them.

The larger of the two was pierced straight through what could be its eye and was almost organic in nature though the skin of its blade was now mere stone. The other was a thin blade in comparison but by the way it was molded it could almost be angelic were it not made of plain rock like her brother. Behind both weapons was a throne where a stone king sat in a bored pose, trapped in eternity to forever gaze upon a battle without a victor.

Morrigan's back straightened and she stared long and hard at the two swords. "That's…"

"The Swords of Damnation and Salvation… the demonic blade Soul Edge," Jacque whispered, "and its opposing twin Soul Calibur."

"I thought they were a myth…" whispered Morrigan with a faint reverence in her voice as she stared at the interlocked blades. "Father—" She cut herself off, looking pained but smiled as she felt Jacque's spirit caress her own through their bond.

Jacque carefully set Samara down on her feet, the girl suddenly finding new strength in the presence of the swords. "Are they alive?" She asked for the one called Soul Edge did appear to have been at some point and his sister Soul Calibur could be no different than him.

"No. Their power is gone, absorbed by a man who thought himself a savior of the world… and in a way, I suppose he was." Jacque started forward but then paused. "Samara, you don't have of your toys with you by any chance?"

"No…" She shook her head. "Why?"

"Stay as far away from the swords regardless." Jacque carefully walked up to the stone swords. He circled them like a wolf inspecting an unknown predator that had suddenly appeared in its territory. Though the swords were dead, for lack of a better term, they had power still to invoke such feelings of terror in him. Yes, he was afraid now than he had ever been before. The things he had seen, the stuff that makes nightmares look like a child's doodling, were a calculated threat. He knew what he was walking into then.

He doesn't now.

Seeing that there were few options left to him at this point, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small octagonal shaped talisman no bigger than a large coin in size with an adequate amount of thickness to allow one to properly grasp it. On its back were faint scriptures of the Orient but what little of it could be seen did not betray its origins. The front was another matter entirely for the depiction there was quite clear despite the markings being solid black to the talismans otherwise gray coloration.

A rat plain and simple.

Jacque reached into his other pocket and pulled out something of similar size but of an entirely different shape and design. It was a sphere in shape but it bore many cuts and lines across its golden surface to give it the appearance of an eye and though that is what it was once used for, it served a whole new purpose entirely. Even with the gloves he now wore on his hands, Jacque could feel the anguish within the eye, the weight of it far stronger than any one soul should be able to bear but there was no ordinary soul within this eye.

Jacque carefully set the talisman down so that it rested upon both blades at once; giving no one a greater feel for its power though he had yet to activate it. He glanced back once more to the girls behind him before staring down at the talisman. If he did this, there would be no turning back, no chances left. He hesitated knowing that if he did this wrong even by the slightest margin, the swords would become unbalanced and a new war of souls and swords would begin anew. He knew this, but to do nothing meant that he everything he had strived for up to this very moment would have been a waste and that was one thing he wouldn't do.

He tapped the talisman and stood back as light carved itself in the shape of the rat before it enveloped the swords in a cocoon of power and light. A storm grew suddenly in the sky above, lightning piercing through the roof to strike the orb but it wasn't enough. Twin screams echoed from inside the sphere, one deep and masculine roaring in a fierce agony, the other light and feminine crying in the dark. Jacque's hand clenched around Zasalamel's eye.

He had no choice.

He tossed the eye inside the sphere.

The storm above reached new intensity and the roof was ripped away to reveal a black void where red lightning duel with a hailstorm of azure. The two elements were twisting around each other like mad serpents and steadily growing brighter with every curve. They were drawing together above the cocoon of light and with wide eyes, Jacque realized what was about to occur. He was in front of Morrigan and Samara in an instant, dragging them both down to the floor with his body between them and the blast, a faint shadow of what appeared like wings stretching out across from the folds of his long jacket.

The explosion was either deafening or soundless, but it didn't matter for the sheer intensity of the light pierced downwards from the heavens and clear onto the other side of the planet. When the world stopped trembling and the only light was that of a setting sun, Jacque slowly opened his eyes. He met frightened blue and concerned jade with a reassuring smile before he rose to his feet, pulling both girls up with him as he did so. He turned and felt his heart clench in a vice.

Either by the explosion or by their own power, the swords had been blown clear of each other and no pierced the rooms center circle like two combatants preparing for battle. On the far left with her jian blade pierced into the ground was Soul Calibur, the ethereal glow of her core shining like a freshly born star. Opposite her with its zweihander blade almost eating the floor was Soul Edge, the core that served as his eye twitching this way. However, it was neither blade that had Jacque's full attention and fear but the man that now stood from his restored throne.

A faint wind blew the dusted remnants of the destroyed talisman past a stunned Jacque, teasing him with the knowledge that its powers were used beyond their measure and thus in its final act, did exactly as Jacque hoped it would do and even more so. Through the sacrifice of Zasalamel's ancient soul, it brought the swords back to life and with them, their one true master, and the man who was called the Hero King.

Algol.

Temperance seals shut the slavering jaws of gluttony.